


Ripple

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was terribly hot in that little bay in the island of Coiba</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripple

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) who wanted Bush/Horatio for the "outside" prompt, for [](http://fairestcat.livejournal.com/profile)[**fairestcat**](http://fairestcat.livejournal.com/) who is having a day and needs porn, and for [](http://black-hound.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://black-hound.livejournal.com/)**black_hound** for the icon and for realizing what the world needs now is more Coiba porn.
> 
> Originally posted 7-22-06

Bush stood next to the gallows, surveying the completed hard work. The scent of pitch wafted up from the beach below and he inhaled deeply, tasting the different odors on his tongue as jungle detritus and cook fires mingled in the still, hot air. Most of the men were eating or sleeping, the dark precluding most of the work as they neared the final stages of repairing the ship. Bush heaved a great sigh and turned, the downtrodden path nearly bare of the leaves and bushes that he had cleaved through on their arrival.

Crude laughter drifted up in the night with the scent of beef, and Bush sighed again. The rough-hewn timber cabin held no appeal for him, nor did sleep. His shirt clung to him with the damp stickiness of sweat and he reached up and unfastened his stock, letting it hang loosely. His jacket and waistcoat were spread on the rough blanket that was his bed, and he gave them no thought at the cloying night clung to his skin.

Instead of letting his feet take him down the path to the camp and the rough songs held mildly in check out of respect for Lady Barbara and her girl, Bush turned and climbed higher, heedless of the clinging vines and stinging insects that assaulted him. As he fought his way higher, the sweat that gathered at the base of his spine faded in the hints of cool breezes and the falling night.

The moon was a distant ghost, barely bright enough be seen in the darkness. Bush stopped as he crested the mountain, tilting his head back and sucking in deep breaths of the air, the sharp breeze cool despite the heat of it. The movement of the branches and leaves around him were like music, thrashing against his legs, tendrils clinging to the graying white of his shirt.

Closing his eyes against the sprinkling of stars, Bush spent moments breathing. The ground no longer swayed under his feet, his sea legs giving way to the necessity to move on land and over rock. Hornblower spared no one in his demands, least of all himself, and the men had rallied as he wished, as he demanded. The harsh bark of command from Hornblower’s lips was almost expected, almost predicted. It was a sound Bush understood, a sound he knew.

And not so different from the sound that wrought him undone.

“Mr. Bush.”

There was no question in Bush’s mind as he faced his Captain, never doubt. He knew and trusted Hornblower with his life and his honor, slowly coming to Hornblower’s viewpoint that, without the second, the first had no meaning. “Captain.”

Hornblower stood several hundred feet away, but the silent, heavy night carried sounds as well as the sea stole whispers away. Hornblower had shed his jacket and waistcoat as well, his stock darker than the night as he unwound it. There was something slow and languorous in Hornblower’s movements and Bush found himself moving closer.

He smiled as he reached the edge of the lake, the water a reflection of the sky above, stars dancing in its depths. Hornblower stripped free of the rest of his clothes and sank into the water with a sigh of contentment, a slow shudder running through his body as he lowered himself beneath the stillness.

Bush held his breath until his Captain surfaced, breaking the mirror of the lake with his dark hair, curls tamed by the streaming wet. “Come in, Mr. Bush.”

“I beg not, Captain. I think it best I not drown before we have the mizzen mast replaced.”

“I think it safe enough, Mr. Bush.” Hornblower stood to show him the depth, water sluicing off his skin, gathering in a pool and breaking the surface of the lake at Hornblower’s mid-thigh. “I would not let you drown.”

Bush licked his lips, tasting the salty hint of sweat on his skin. Swallowing hard and closing off the whisper that haunted him daily, he undid the loose knot of his stock and tugged both it and his shirt over his head. Hornblower sank back in the water to his neck, watching Bush with unreadable eyes, their darkness almost bright as the night deepened. Holding his Captain’s gaze, he shed the rest of his clothes and slipped into the water, his own body reacting to the cool water lapping against his skin.

“You see, Mr. Bush?” Hornblower’s voice was close, like a ripple against Bush’s skin. “Completely safe.”

Bush shuddered slightly at the brush of skin as Hornblower’s fingers grazed his arm then were gone, the man himself pushing back in the water, the froth of white forming in his wake, a line separating him from Bush. “You should be asleep, Captain.”

Hornblower’s eyebrow arched up. “As should you, Mr. Bush.” He changed his direction and moved closer to Bush until only a breath of breeze separated them. His voice changed, no longer the harsh edge of command, but a heavy, low whisper weighted with the heady scent of the surrounding island, their bodies an island of their own as Hornblower reached out, wet fingers painting a tattoo on Bush’s pale skin.

Heat thrilled through Bush, hotter than the blazing sun as it beat down on Coiba. Since Lady Barbara had joined them in Panama, since she had rooted herself to Hornblower’s shadow, Bush had found his time with his Captain sparse and filled with duty. No longer the lazy nights at sea, coiled around a bottle of port and conversation and then the slow, steady rock of the ship around them. “Captain.”

“Oh, yes?” Hornblower’s smile was enigmatic, curled across his lips like a cat got the cream. “Mr. Bush?” His fingers traced the flat plane of Bush’s chest, decorating his nipple with droplets of water before he bent his head, his tongue snaking out to chase them from Bush’s skin.

Bush shuddered and swallowed, finding the thick wet plait of his Captain’s hair, wrapping his hand around it and bringing Hornblower’s face to his, lips hard and wet against Bush’s. The kiss was rough and hard, teeth and lips clashing, tongues tangling like the wet strands of hair as they coiled through Bush’s fingers.

“Bush,” Hornblower groaned against his lips, hunger lapping at Bush’s mouth, tongue and teeth seeking flesh ripe with heat and need. Shaking his head, Bush stepped back, his hand still tangled in Hornblower’s queue. Hornblower didn’t move though his eyes darkened, light sparking like flint as Bush tugged at the long strands, spreading his legs wider, shifting his balance, pitching himself against the roll of the sea as Hornblower did as the insistent hand bid, sinking to his knees in the water.

Bush’s body was rigid with need, the anger and frustration within him brimming over in the sharp tug he gave Hornblower’s hair, the hard thrust of his hips, brushing his cock against Hornblower’s lips. The Captain licked his lips slowly, the movement brushing the tip of his tongue across the head of Bush’s cock and Bush groaned, cursing under his breath at the threatened loss of control.

“This, Mr. Bush?” Hornblower’s voice held the edge of command again and a shudder went through Bush, his knees threatening to give way despite his stance. He held his ground, meeting Hornblower’s eyes.

“It will do, Captain.”

“Do?” Challenge laced Hornblower’s tone and he licked his lips again, this time not allowing Bush a chance to react before he took the head of Bush’s shaft in his mouth. Bush’s hand tightened around the hair still in his fist as heat and warmth surrounded him, the hard suction of Hornblower’s mouth increasing as he slid Bush’s cock deeper into his mouth, his own hands closing around Bush’s hips.

Bush closed his eyes, his head tilted back. The night was alive around him – insects and water, wind and the sea – but nothing penetrated through the thick haze of pleasure, the insistent pull of Hornblower’s mouth, the deep bruising pain of Hornblower’s fingers against his hip bones, the heavy pounding of his own pulse as it thundered through his veins.

His head fell forward, his eyes opening to watch his Captain’s dark eyes as he watched Bush, sucking at the hard flesh and studying Bush’s reactions like the wind and the sea, taking in every tremor, every stillness. Bush groaned, the sound deep inside him, fighting to swallow the sound, the faint hint of weakness of surrender. The corner of Hornblower’s mouth curved up and he freed one hand from Bush’s hip, letting it slide beneath the water. Bush watched beneath the ripples as the hand wrapped around Hornblower’s shaft, stroking it in rapid time.

Hips jerking, Bush buried himself, thrusting deeper into Hornblower’s throat as his release overtook him. Hornblower’s eyes flashed triumph, surrendered quickly to his own orgasm. His mouth closed tighter on instinct and Bush lost control completely, his lips breaking apart with another moan, the sound a plaintive cry on the sudden breeze.

He staggered backwards, sitting hard on the edge of the lake, sand and grit digging into his skin until he slid forward, sinking back into the water, his body languid and happy to float in contended peace until the water dragged Bush under.

“Careful, Mr. Bush.” Hornblower’s voice edged toward normal, though there was something more, something that, for all he might admire her, Lady Barbara would never see from him. “I swore an oath I would not let you drown. And I am, where my men are concerned, a man of my word.”

“Is that what I am, Captain? One of your men?”

Hornblower’s eyebrow rose as he pushed off the small shoal of the lake and moved back deeper in the water. “There is much work to do tomorrow, Mr. Bush.”

Not an answer then, but Bush had never truly needed words from his Captain. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Hornblower wished him with a wave as Bush climbed free of the water. “Mr. Bush.”  



End file.
